Red Flowers
by The Last Leaf
Summary: Red flowers, rejection, and a dream. A chronicle of a major character's thoughts.


Disclaimer: I don't own VK.

He was tired.

He was vaguely aware of the silence around him.

The numbness that touched his limbs.

He told himself, he only gave her away because the other one needed her the most, more than he will ever be.

He watched the crimson liquid sloshed around the bottom of the glass chalice, held up high above him by his hand, and laughed humorlessly to himself.

Since when did you start making excuses for yourself? He said into the air.

No, love isn't measured by how much need one needed. Love is measured by… by…

He couldn't find a word.

Maybe love isn't, wasn't suppose to be measured.

He laughed maliciously again at the honey dipped words, the ridiculous sappy letters.

Love is cruel. Love is pain. Love is a simple trick of illusions.

He will never believe in such fickle, flimsy matter again.

She said, she said with her pretty, empty words and warm voice…

She said, "I'm sorry…"

She said," I'm really sorry."

She said, with tears so pure and innocent that he wanted to kiss them away, despite the viciousness of her words.

She said, "But I can't leave him."

She said, "I want you, but… I need him."

"I need him." She repeated again.

Want and need. So near, so near, but it wasn't enough.

It was too much and it wasn't enough.

She said, "You are strong."

She said, "You don't need me as much as him."

She said, "You will survive without me. But…"

But the other one couldn't, wouldn't.

She explained that she is the other one's love, the other one's home, the other one's family, the other one's only resting place.

Then she said, "I'm so sorry."

But he smiled, although the excruciating pain in his chest threatened to overwhelm him, although his breath became non-existent, although his thoughts were crammed with emptiness, although he couldn't really see her face at all except for the blurry red, red flower she wore in her warm brown mane.

But he smiled, and said…

He said, "It is fine."

He didn't want her to say sorry anymore.

It made him angry.

It insulted him.

Like she was supposed to pay back for all he had done.

But he didn't want her to.

He gave her all willingly.

The way she treated it as a heavy burden.

It insulted him greatly.

It made him angry and little bit sad.

How she didn't understand.

How she never understood.

How far away her heart was all this time.

All these years.

She never understood him.

Never did, never tried, and never will.

How he hated that word.

Never, like a bitter foul object in his mouth, trapped between his teeth.

Never, never, shall he be weakened by such weak emotions once more.

Somehow, he knew he would keep this promise.

He gazed into the liquid again, tipped the glass over, and watched little blossoms of blood form on the carpet.

Drip, drip, drip…

Flowers that bloomed during winter.

It laid its seeds in his heart.

He felt it when it sprouted, cutting through the valves, sucking like leeches to his blood.

Its leaves stabbed the walls of the left atrium, a grotesque monster.

Then it pieced through his heart, drinking his flesh, tearing apart the bloodied fragile organ.

Red, crimson, vermillion, all shapes, faded on his white, white milky skin.

It darkened, deepened.

He thought he saw a careful golden green hidden within.

Weeks past as its roots seeped into the cracks of sternum, finally the bone bowed down to the plant as it overtook it, and pulled the white, white bone apart. Its splinters flew through his body and when he moved, he could feel it digging, digging into muscles, destroying him…

The being blasted through his chest, the spot right between. It drew his skin apart, and a pink hole appeared, swirling.

Rich redness flowed, down, and stained everything, flawless beauty.

His hands, his body, his legs, even his visage.

He saw red everywhere.

Then he saw the green, rising up like a creature.

It grew and grew from his body, taking it as its soil, its food.

Its fine neck straitened.

He watched it laid a mocking look at him.

Then it twisted into a smirk

From its mouth a beautiful large red, crimson, vermillion Papaver rhoeas blossomed, thrived, flourished with its smiling teasing teeth.

When he opened his eyes, it was a dream.

A strange, interesting dream.

With a red flower asleep between his fingers, he kissed it gently like a dearest lover, and crushed it with his hand.

Petals fell down.

A/N: I have been told by a friend that this was a bit too vague since I didn't mention any names, but then again, she never read vk before. So if this is honestly too vague, then please tell me. I will revise and try to squeeze names into this.

Thank you for reading : )


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